
PS 3533 
U7 E8 
1906 
Copy 1 




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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



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EXTRA MUROS 

AND OTHER 

ESSAYS 



BY 

EDWARD QUINTARD 



PRIVATELY PRINTED 
NEW YORK 

1906 



UBRARYofCONGflESS ' 

Two Copies Received 

JAN 7 190? 

, r. C3Mri(/ht Entry 
aUASS /\ XXC, No. 



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Copyright 1906, by" Edward Quintard. 
cAU Rights Rjeserved. 
Published December, 1906. 



Printed hy 

CARROLL J. POST, Jr. 

New York 



To E. H. Q. 



X 



R 



M U R O 



EXTRA MUROS 




HE Metropolitan spirit has crept upon 
us apace. Immense masses of the 
genus homo live surrounded by gray 
walls and brick angularities, which 
loom up grim and gigantic about 
them on all sides, and are at once their pride and 
the concrete expression of their habits and desires. 
The face of nature has been scarred by iron rails 
and asphalt pavements ; her bosom riven by clay 
pipes and electric wires; the green hedges lining her 
sunny lanes have been converted by some Plutonic 
power into limitless miles of baked clay and mortar; 
whilst her meadows and free breathing spaces 
groan under a stupendous tonnage of iron and 
steel. 

With smug and brazen mien quantity as 
against quality stares us out of countenance and 
elbows and jostles us on all sides, whilst a blatant 
commercialism and a vulgar materialism assert, 
with insufferable insolence, their supreme force 
and power over the daily and hourly affairs of 
man's existence. 



EXTRA MURO 



Instead of the matutinal pipings of birds to 
waken us from a quiet and refreshing slumber, our 
troubled and hard earned rest is abruptly ended 
by the hoarse and strident shriek of the factory 
whistle, and we are hurled precipitately into the 
cares and perplexities of another day. In place of 
the gentle murmur of the brook to soothe us in 
our daily peiEgrinations, our auditory senses are 
tortured and well nigh deafened by the incessant 
clang of trolleys and the monotonous rumble of 
jarring wheels. 

If we gaze upward to seek the unbroken arch 
of the sky we are awed and subdued by a network 
of iron and steel complexities. If we attempt to 
rest our eyes by a glimpse of a free horizon an im- 
penetrable fastness of brick wall, whose depressing 
monotony is enhanced by the bold effrontery of 
glaring advertisements, abruptly arrests our vision; 
whilst beneath our feet the rumble of steam pipes, 
and the vibration of subterranean trains reminds 
us how thin a crust of earth is left to guard man 
from annihilation through his own machinations. 

Our very Penates turn their benign faces from 
us and give a scornful sniff at any incense other 
than that of choicest Havana, and are deaf to all 
hymns of adoration, save the rustle of rarest silk or 



EXTRA MURO 



costliest brocade. In words, Pan has fled and 
Plutus reigns supreme. 

Many, if not the most of us wheresoever we go, 
or whithersoever we turn bear like poor Christian 
our burden of urban habits and manners with us — 
a pack of pretty poor manners and habits at best, 
with not a few unmentionable abominations sec- 
reted in its darkest corners. Happy indeed for us 
if on our benighted way we meet with some hope- 
ful and honest Evangelist to point us the road to 
serenity and peace, and whose hand shall lighten 
our load withal. 

Magnitude and Pretension ride boldly into the 
lists these latter days and throw their brazen 
gauntlet into the very face of Excellence — a lonely 
and too often unchampioned maiden, in these over 
bold and thoughtless times, with the air so full of 
alley-hymns and gutter-paeans, and the atmo- 
sphere fairly ripping and splitting with the wild 
cheers of the bog-mob. Indeed, ever since good 
Father Adam, glitter and show, brag and bluster 
have gone far to persuade and rule the hearts of men, 
and today gold and gunpowder are the statesman 
and high priest of the hour. On all sides is the 
surging multitude whose "molten images are wind 
and confusion". The huge vampire of unrest bat- 



XTRA MURO 



tens and feeds on the life blood of the race and 
times; its black and terrible wings forever fanning 
riot and distress in men's minds and with terrible 
effect concealing the ensign on the mountain top, 
and blotting out the vision of God's stars. 

We have become parasites to depraved am- 
bitions and unhealthy desires. Conventionalities 
born of false estimates of right and wrong place 
our minds and bodies in gyves and fetters and we 
wear the felon's stripes by choice. For once the 
ring of conventionality has pierced the nose of the 
poor human bear, the inanest clown, the silliest 
acrobat may lead it wheresoever he wills, and 
growl and paw as he may, when the ring pulls 
he must dance. 

All too frequently our very amusements and 
recreations are vulgarized and degraded by an 
associated spirit of gamble and gain. To normal, 
simple and real pleasures we have become irre- 
sponsive, and our appetites and desires being 
vitiated and exhausted, we seek to rouse and 
stimulate them by all manner of perversions, 
mental and physical. We are rushed through 
highways and byways, propelled by gasolene ex- 
plosions, or hurled catapultly along the road by the 
electric fluid. Time which was formerly measured 

8 



XTRA MURO 



by the hour glass and sun dial, is now computed 
by means of a chronometer with split seconds. 
We sleep and rise by alarm clocks; our very meals 
are given us in predigested form; we telephone, 
telegraph, and dynamite to gain time; in fact, we 
do everything to save time, and yet in this respect 
seem always insolvent. We are in the position of 
those who in seeking the essence have the dregs for 
their pains. 

Lost in the dense fog of selfishness and indif- 
ference, in troops and solitary, humanity struggles 
and drags itself not knowing whither, following in 
blind frenzy the will-o'-the-wisp of cant, the ignis 
fatuus of pseudo- science, or that abomination of all 
things earthly, pseudo-religion. Well may we 
hearken to the prophets voice calling from the 
abyss of centuries to "stop and consider." Not 
unwise indeed to stop before the altar of our hopes 
and dreams, and to repeat to our questioning hearts, 
that "late and soon, getting and spending we lay 
waste our powers." 

To our shame be it confessed that we live 
in a time when too often our duty and our morals 
are affairs of ciphers and the multiplication table. 
The idea as to how a public or a private duty 
should be fulfilled being that one cipher is an 



EXTRA MURO 



insult, two a proposition, and three an imperative 
and divine interpretation. Nor is it an easy thing, 
for even the honestest and most earnest man to 
choose the one road which for him eventually shall 
lead to the golden mile stone of accomplishment 
and success. For in the midst of the intricate 
perplexities of modern life "no one field of thought 
or line of action, or sphere of opportunity can justly 
claim preeminence, and be in fact, that crucial duty 
binding upon all men who would die crowned." 
But there is a quality, mark you well the word, a 
certain spirit which in up and doing, we all must 
possess otherwise we shall sink in the human bog 
surrounding us on all sides, and a cry, lonely as 
that of a bittern's shall be the requieum of a lost 
soul. This quality which separates the pedagogue 
from the master, the artisan from the artist, and 
mediocrity from greatness can only be acquired by 
a full knowledge and intimate association with 
nature. The tranquilizing effect of her mighty 
harmonies upon our vision, the sense of deep joy 
which pervades us when in direct contact with her 
manifold expressions of form and growth, permit 
us to see with a clearer and truer insight into the 
cause of things. And in finding our relations to 
nature there is gradually unfolded to us the true 

10 



EXTRA MUROS 



relation to our work, our fellow men and to God. 
Under her immediate influence we learn to look at 
life and its manifestations about us in a disinterested 
way; for a time we get rid of our egoism, we are 
no longer self-centered, or self-conscious, nor are 
we bound and trammelled by self-interest, personal 
emotions or individual temperament We no lon- 
ger see everything through ourselves, and we ac- 
quire almost unconsciously health, depth, repose, 
and pass from the individual into the universal 
life. This passing from the personal into the larger 
life is an essential feature of our development. W^e 
needs must grow, and furthermore feel that we can 
grow. We need the cool fresh breath of nature 
to blow over our feverish and pulsing temples; we 
long for her calm gentle voice to still and hush our 
aching and throbbing hearts ; our eyes yearn for a 
glimpse of her quiet beauty; our ears crave her 
silence— we would live again and rest! 

In an unbroken ascendency nature has reai-ed 
man. We are the living memorials upon which 
she has engraved her conquests and triumphs over 
time and chaos. From cell to man, there has been 
a ceaseless, progressive and marvellous evolution. 
The man of to-day is directly related to the cell of 
countiess milleneums ago— he, himself, but a com- 

11 



EXTRA MURO 



bination of cells, the rudimentary stages of whose 
functions must be sought for in a remote and 
unknown age. His impressions may be traced to 
an infinite past, his hope and faith to an infinite 
future; he, himself is part of eternity. Man is 
refined rock, sublimated trees, glorified star-dust! 
This divine co-relation between things and events 
is never disrupted; beginning and end follow in 
unbroken sequence, crystal and tree, flower and 
star, all things are bound together in sublime affi- 
nity; the Supreme Idea pervades all things— the 
power and will of God. 

We have lived through all experience, what 
to-day is new for the individual, is old for the race. 
To love nature, to feel her mighty influence stir 
within our breast is but to feel the effects of these 
past events and happenings, which have so im- 
pressed our being as to make us forever responsive 
to similar conditions and environments. If man 
at times hungers for the sea, it is perchance be- 
cause the wonderful phenomenon we call life may 
first have manifested itself within its depths and 
mysteries, and this parental link has never been 
broken. If at times he longs for the forest solitude 
or the heights of mountain tops, it is a primal 
instinct born of long forgotten experience, that 

12 



EXTRA MURO 



moves and stirs his heart and soul impelling and 
compelling him to renew the bond of an infinite 
past. Not a single page of man's eventful history 
but that shows him to be a nursling of nature, 
and his sublimest faculty if traced to its rudimen- 
tary stage reveals the ceaseless and marvellous 
efforts and effects of her influence over his grad- 
ually developing powers and possibilities. Through 
the medium of touch, sight, taste, hearing, she 
roused his slumbering senses, awakened and nur- 
tured his primitive intellect, fostered and stimulated 
his weanling imagination. Through daily contact 
with her inexorable methods and laws she discip- 
lined him and developed his physical being and 
moral character. His eye seeing the spark as 
the flint struck the rock, fire became his obedi- 
ent slave, whose power was one day to girdle 

and bind the earth with products of iron and steel. 
Observing the apple fall earthward, a sudden light 
flashed across his ken, and he recognized the law 
of gravitation. Watching the ships disappear 
beneath the horizon and pondering on the cause 
he followed the bent of a new thought, and in so 
doing discovered another world. Perceiving the 
similarity between himself and all other creatures, 
the dawn of a great idea illumined his mind and 

13 



XTRA MURO 



understanding, and the law of evolution shed the 
light of a new reason on his life, his philosophy and 
his religion. 

The shallowest skeptic, the most confirmed 
agnostic, is influenced by nature in spite of 
himself. Active or passive, he perforce must learn 
when once within the realms of her power and 
sway. All nature is full of moral potentialities. 
A man cannot put his hand to the plow, or sow a 
field, or throw a stone, or dig a hole ; he cannot 
behold a sunset or peer into the depths of waters, but 
that it leaves its lasting effect on his physical, 
mental and moral being. A man acquires more 
true wisdom in clearing an acre of ground than he 
can get in all the newspapers printed in the course 
of a year. 

It is because of these things, that the poet or 
prophet using nature as his interpreter reaches 
the heart of man more quickly and more surely 
than any other. Our literature and speech abound 
with references direct and indirect to her many 
phases and conditions. Our tenderest similes, our 
noblest metaphors, our most splendid rhetoric, 
speak through nature to man. Art at discord 
with nature is not art at all— nothing but an ephe- 
meral unnamable eftbrt on the part of the vulgar, 

14 



EXTRA MURO 



ignorant or quack mind to attract attention or 
evoke a miserable applause. 

The nearer we live to nature, the more 
thoroughly we comprehend the vastness of her 
plan and system, the closer we adopt and follow 
her marvellous methods, thus the more clearly 
shall we understand the destiny of man, and the in- 
terpretation of life itself. The further we get from 
her influence the less apt are we to judge correctly 
as regards those many phenomena of life which 
are so constantly passing within our ken, and the 
less stability, the less surety, and in fact, the less 
truth will our ideas and words come to possess. 

It is on account of these things too, that no 
man is native to the soil, no alien truly naturalized 
until such time as the nature of the country in 
which he dwells becomes a part of his very being. 
What man does for himself makes his home, but 
what nature does for him makes his country. It is 
the individuality of mountain and valley, river and 
meadow, shore and ocean, tree and flower which 
win and hold the heart of man to his native land 
and makes her a mighty mother indeed. It is this 
at once tender and dependent affection for his 
native soil, which makes him poet and prophet, 
hero and statesman. 

15 



EXTRA MURO 



Nature never ends her instruction, nor does 
the aptest and wisest scholar of her school ever 
reach the end of his education. From the first to 
the latest man, from the simplest to the most pro- 
found, she has ever a new lesson, ever one whose 
breadth and significance is but the stepping stone 
to one yet more comprehensive and marvellous. 
Now with the winning smile of hope and pleasure, 
and again with the scourge of adversity and sor- 
row, she leads and compels him ever onward and 
upward to sublimer and diviner heights. Let but 
his heart and mind be open, and they shall be filled 
with the sweetness and light of her knowledge 
and wisdom. Unceasingly, insistently she has kept 
man to his task of acquiring such lessons as she 
set before hirn; persistently she has compelled 
him to fight and conquer his way; constantly has 
she urged him to seek a fuller and more catholic 
understanding of that relation which exists between 
them. It is as if nature had to vindicate her wis- 
dom in conceiving the idea of man ; as if she had to 
defend against all time her right to claim him as 
her final expression of power — this being who was 
to stand as the supreme bond of affiliation between 
herself and God. 

. The birth of mind, matter and spirit as a unity 

16 



EXTRA MUROS 



in the form of man was the divine event which 
crowned the marriage of Nature and Time. 
Yet as Nature's noblest offspring, man is also heir 
to her mightiest efforts, her supremest tasks: 
through him she has to conquer; through him com- 
prehend; through him finally reach God himself. 
As a mere recipient of her favors she has no use 
for him; as a parasite or mere dependent to her 
greatness, she will not tolerate him— rather let him 
return again to the dust from which she fashioned 
him. But as a being who could fight with destiny ; 
as one whose observations, deductions, courage, 
patience, persistence, self-restraint, self-denial, 
work, and faith were to vindicate her idea of him, 
and at the same time win his own salvation, — for 
such a one both nature and God have use. 

Only what is noblest in man craves and seeks 
nature; for her there is no malice, envy or hatred 
in his heart We seek her as a mighty mother, a 
kindly nurse, a staunch friend. We need the 
quickening warmth and light of the sun ; the sol- 
emn splendor of the stars; the mysterious power 
of the moon; the breath of fields and meadows; the 
voice of wind and water ; — we need all these subtle 
and marvellous influences of hers for the health of 
our moral and physical being. So important, nay 

17 



EXTRA MURO 



vital, are these things for the uplifting of the human 
race, that it would almost seem as if there should 
be certain feasts of days and seasons set apart by 
the State for its citizens, on which days and seasons 
should be held high and solemn festival under the 
open sky, in silent contemplation of the immensi- 
ties and beauties of nature, and of the Creator's 
beneficence to all mankind. No prating orator 
should desecrate with an obtrusive personality the 
sacredness of the occasion; no officious prayer 
should be voiced to break the solemn stillness of 
the day or hour— enough the silence of a humble 
and grateful heart. Thus should we become bet- 
ter citizens, and a nobler race of men ; there would 
be less riot and anarchy in our lives, as the kindly 
influences of nature tempered our minds and 
understandings. 

Beyond the walls then everyone of us must 
go, lest we waste and sicken and finally die ! Back 
to the great mother out of whose elements we are 
made; from whose breast the human race in its 
infancy suckled such potentialities and energies as 
enabled it to rise and conquer the living world 
about it, and which have kept it evolving to this 
day. Back to her at whose lap mankind has ever 
and shall ever learn his first and last great lesson 

18 



EXTRA MURO 



of discipline and life. Back to the eternal voices, 
the infinite silences; to the ceaseless energies, the 
everlasting repose of Nature must man turn to 
finally know himself. 



19 



To M. H. 



BERRY 



PICKING 



BERRY PICKING 




F ANTIQUITY lends honor and dig- 
nity to a sport, how beyond most 
pastimes must that of berry picking 
hold a place in man's affections. 
Indeed this gentle pursuit is enliv- 
ened by something of that spirit of hazard and 
chance which through all ages and times has held 
man a devotee to discovery and the chase. The 
same spirit of sport, but of a milder flavor, accom- 
panies your blackberry picker as it does your lover 
of rod and gun; with these his bolder congeners he 
takes his risks and ventures, and as with them 
luck enters the lists against his skill and wit. For 
the blackberry is to your berry-picker what the 
trout is to your angler, shy and illusive withal. 
A sharp eye, a skillful hand and a sure foot are 
requisites to spot your game, to avoid scratch and 
tear, and not to lose your footing in the at times 
almost inaccessible places where grows the biggest 
and finest fruit. For unless you are a mere road- 
ster and dawdler at the game and content with 
meagre reward, you soon come to know that the 



23 



BERRY PICKING 



best blackberries, like most other prizes sought 
after in this much bebrambled and thorny world, 
are only to be had after some toil and not a little risk 
to your immediate comfort. In other words, the 
finest variety of your fruit, the long, large and 
luscious kind is jealous of its woodland preroga- 
tives and eludes with tantalizing success the hand 
of eager man. 

It is an irresistible stimulus which stirs 
through your berry-picker, these drowsy late sum- 
mer days, rousing him from his pre-autumnal 
dreams and bidding him be up and doing. To 
avoid or check this desire is to suppress one of the 
healthiest quickenings to which mortal flesh is heir, 
and thwarts one of nature's finest efforts to vitalize 
and strengthen man's physical and moral being. 
Fortunate for us if we still feel these gentle im- 
pulses stir within our blood. Happy the man 
whose body and soul have thus far escaped the 
deadening and atrophying forces of the modern 
artificial life, so that these timely and invigorating 
behests of nature may even yet in him awaken 
a spontaneous and harmonious response. 

Your genuine blackberry picker will choose 
his day with as much care and skill as ever the 
lover of reel and rod selects his. The auspicious 

24 



BERRY PICKING 



time is just after a rain, for it is then that the berries 
ripen and reach, as if by magic, an inexpressible 
perfection. 

Given a day say in late August; it has rained 
during the night, and the host of clouds is still 
marshalled in the sky; an occasional shower 
veils the surrounding landscape, and trails of mist 
drag in soft, fleecy streamers over the hill tops. 
You start pail in hand for the quest. For several 
days past during rambles and drives you have 
watched with an eager and epicurean eye the rich 
clusters of darkening berries ripening along the 
road side. You have made a mental note of such 
places where promise seems to point to ultimate 
reward. Involuntarily you recall certain bowls of 
delicious fruit which, together with generous slices 
of bread and golden pats of ice-cold butter, gave 
you a feast, the mere memory of which evokes a 
votary's prayer to ancient Pan ! Visions of mar- 
vellous pies whose light and flaky crust jealously 
concealed the rich purple juices beneath, rise to the 
mind's eye, and last but not least, certain jolly 
looking boiled puddings and rolypolys which have 
sanctified past seasons and are about to glorify the 
days immediately to come, cast a final beatitude 
over the enchanting vision. 

25 



BERRY PICKING 



By such Lucullian memories has your gust- 
atory sense been whetted and your patience be- 
guiled so that it might better endure the wait for 
the season's bounty. 

As we trudge along what pleasures greet the 
eye on all sides! The brown thrasher, liveliest and 
busiest of the choir of feathered minstrels runs 
along the road enticing you to follow, only to lure 
you on and on and finally to elude you altogether, 
as with a sudden and impudent jerk of his tail he 
disappears in the nearby thicket. Overhead the 
martins and swallows are ranged in solemn con- 
clave along the telegraph wire. You remember, 
how in days gone by when for a young and ardent 
oologist, the eggs of these birds were a special prize. 
Their nests were found under the eaves of old 
barns, and in the cupola on top of the old farm 
house, the latter being a place of especial enchant- 
ment it being reached by a long wooden ladder, and 
having just enough space to walk about in when 
once inside. The hornets and wasps had made 
their nests in the corners, and the hot sun beat 
down upon it so fiercely that one could smell the 
odor of the pine boards, of which it was made. 
Besides these perils it had its prohibitions as well, 
which latter enhanced its charms immeasurably, 

26 



BERRY PICKING 



and greatly added to the exhilarating sense of free- 
dom and independence which the young adventurer 
felt when, from its four latticed sides he looked out 
over miles and miles of rolling country beneath. 
High in the air a king-bird is chasing a hawk, a 
sight which always rouses ones sense of the ridic- 
ulous, — this aerial battle betwixt pigmy and giant. 
Yet here before our very eyes is enacted a scene 
which has its many counterparts in human life. 
For after all the minority counts in the long run; 
the microbe is more dangerous than the elephant, 
and it is the atom which defies the chemist. 

The weather has been of the torrid kind; better 
for the berries than the human species in search 
of them. But the rain has laid the dust and cooled 
the air which is redolent with the odor of fresh 
earth and leaf, and meadow, — in fact, walking is 
prime. At each stride along the road you feel your 
pulse quicken and a gentle exhilerating glow 
courses through your entire system. You are 
getting free of your mental cobwebs, of your "dry- 
asdust" inclinations and tendencies. In shaking 
the dust from your feet, you are performing the 
same good office for your heart and soul, and letting 
in to your gradually expanding nature some of the 
freshness and open air joyousness which surrounds 

27 



BERRY PICKING 



you, and bathes you in an ethereal essence on all 
sides. Your fancy and imagination take sudden 
splendid flights as you gaze on the wide sky above 
you, across which slowly drift mighty hosts of vapor 
giants, huge impalpable shapes whose voice is the 
thunder, and whose potential energies may at any 
moment be converted into the lightning and storm. 
A larger and warmer sympathy pervades your 
being as you listen to the choral symphonies of 
unseen woodland singers; and as the wind, that 
ancient minstrel, plays with subtile touch las 
soughing chords and harmonies through bending 
hemlock and pine, you are unconsciously regaining 
your equilibrium and equanimity. Hereafter, for a 
time at least, your sensations and emotions will 
swing with a truer balance, you will think with a 
finer mind, see with a clearer eye, feel with a 
nobler heart. 

You linger by the side of a little brook riotous 
with the revel of last night's rain and storm. It's 
waters are swirled in eddies and whirlpools as it 
hurries impetuously along, tumbling over rocks 
and boulders, and coming dangerously near over- 
flowing its banks. You again realize, as you have 
so many times before, why poet, and sage, states- 
man and prophet, musician and artist, have rhymed 

28 



BERRY PICKING 



and philosophized, metaphorized and parabled, sung 
and painted, these lesser waters of nature, these 
rivers in miniature, whose infancy big with great 
possibilities and future energies so aptly typify 
human beginnings and ends. 

The growth along the roadside is every 
moment becoming wilder and more riotous. Tall 
clumps of spotted alder hedge the way on either 
side forming an almost impenetrable thicket 
through which the sun glints and glimmers. Great 
bushes of gnarled and twisted laurel whose glorious 
clusters of pink blossoms have long since turned to 
dust, but whose dark green and glossy leaves, if 
anything, outrival the beauty of the former more 
ephemeral flowers, encircle the rugged trunks of 
hemlock and pine rendering the gloom and shade 
even more dark and mysterious. Although this 
laurel of the new world never circled the head of a 
victorious Alexander or Caeser, it can boast a far 
greater conquerer for its votary. For each year it 
crowns the giant brow of grim and imperial winter, 
whose mighty line of conquests began ages before 
the voice of man broke the inarticulate silence of 
this ancient world. On alder and pine, broken 
fence and crumbling stone wall climbs the clam- 
bering clematis, its delicate spray-like bloom and 

29 



BERRY PICKING 



clinging tendrils adding to the green confusion of 
things. The yarrow, that ubiquitous and dusty 
faced little tramp of summer highways and by- 
ways, asserts its right of association with its betters 
the tall pink Joe-Pye weed and purple spired 
vervain. Mingling with these and seen through 
the fenestrated spaces and vistas of vines and trees 
is the glory of field and meadow, the golden rod, 
its bold plumes waving and tossing a defiant chal- 
lenge to the approaching powers of Autumn. And 
on all sides, here wantoning in the shade and 
shadow, there revelling and basking in the sun- 
shine are the blackberries! 

My fair proselyte to berry picking, has it ever 
been your palates pleasure, has the gustatory 
ecstacy ever been yours to taste a wild blackberry 
with the cool limpid dew still bathing its dusky 
sides? If not, prepare now, to enjoy fulfillment of 
a blessed expectation! Yet gently, and cautiously 
withal, too rash a hand, too quick a step may bring 
its own sad judgment in the loss of the choicest 
fruit, or that more painful experience, a sprained 
ankle. For your finest berry like your biggest 
trout haunts the shades and shadows; the heat of 
the sun saps and shrivels the lifeblood of the reck- 
less berry that in wanton joy has sought its 

30 



BERRY PICKING 



seductive light. Here stands a bush seemingly 
void of fruit— be not deceived, yet proceed with 
caution. The alertness required to escape the prick 
of thorn and scratch of bramble adds zest to the 
sport; nor are these natural protectors of the fruit 
its sole defenders, for the warrior wasps with 
poisoned lances are ever ready to attack all discov- 
erers of their sylvan larder, and wary indeed must 
be the intruders who would avoid a battle with 
these active and vigilant woodland sentinals. 
Follow where the vine trails and loses itself in the 
dense cool foliage of that arbor of wild grape; 
gently separate the guardian leaves, and then for 
a moment let the eye be regaled by the feast which 
is so soon to entertain your palate. The plump, 
round, drupelet of each berry is a tiny globule of 
rare and delicious juice, ready to yield its contents 
at the slightest pressure of mortal lips. No cellarer 
ever tapped a cask of so fine a vintage; no rarer 
nectar ever touched the eager tongue of Olympic 
God ; no Tynan purple ever stained with finer hue 
the ruthless hand of man; no urn of Araby ever 
spilled so seductive a fragrance on the desert air. 
But the shadows are ever lengthening; a 
sudden silence steals over all things, and a chill 
creeps on apace from the surrounding hills. You 

31 



BERRY PICKING 



turn your face towards home. Heavenward, in the 
Walhalla of the sky, the Cloud Gods are gathering 
for their twilight march. In majestic train they 
pass solemnly westward in robes of flaming purple 
and crimson, their crowns of burning gold flashing 
shafts of radiant light across the horizon. In the 
distance is heard the muffled rumble of their char- 
iot wheels as they drive along their fiery way. In 
defiance they hurl a spear of fire against the pale 
planet of evening, it strikes the zenith and shatters 
into a thousand glowing and glittering fragments 
whose light slowly dies out, quenched in the ocean 
of night, into whose mysterious depths all nature 
shall presently sink in forgetfulness and sleep. 



32 



To P. J. F. 



O N 



H E 



R O 



D 




ON THE ROAD 

UMANITY "on the road" is, so far 
as its greater part is concerned, in- 
sensible to the finer sensations. A 
journey by rail, in the heat and dust 
of a summer's day results, at least for 
most of us, in the subjugation of our entire be- 
ing to the idea of "getting there," wherever "there" 
may be, and until the desired haven is reached, 
individual nature seems susceptible to distractions 
and annoyances only. 

Your genuine traveler is born, not made. A 
man may be a globe-trotter all his life; he may 
journey from Dan to Beersheba, or from one pole 
to the other and back again and yet be no traveler 
at all ; your peregrlnator per naturam possessing 
certain qualities which set him apart from the 
commonalty, and which serve to distinguish him as 
readily as those which discriminate between poet 
and philosopher. Indeed, your "born traveler" is a 
felicitous combination of both poet and philosopher, 
having the warm sympathy and nice perception of 
the former, and the singularly happy faculty pos- 



35 



ON THE ROAD 



sessed by the latter of adjusting himself to varying 
exigences and circumstances without deranging 
his moral or mental being. To such a one all 
seasons and all places have their own peculiar 
charm and delight. He may travel as an emperor 
or as the merest vagabond, it matters not which; 
in the best and fullest sense of the word he is a 
citizen of the world, and an imperial vision and 
enjoyment are his. Moreover, that healthy and 
vigorous interest in man and nature which comes 
from individual action and contemplation stands 
as a constant and genial host at the ever open 
door of his fancy, for his imagination has become 
a species of Prosperonian cloak in which, wrapped 
at will and freed from vexations and discomforts 
of time and environment, visions of depths and 
heights illimitable may be his for the mere wish- 
ing. No Goswell Street bounds him on every side, 
as it did the redoubtable Mr. Pickwick on that 
memorable morning when he first started on his 
classic journey of research. The Goswellian walls 
no longer darken or limit his views. The glimpses 
of waving fields and winding rivers will recall to 
him the Elysian days of youth, or, if he be, as we 
hope he is even now, young in spirit, there will rise 
before him visions of delightful and happy days to 

36 



ON THE ROAD 



come; while wooded hills and rolling meadows will 
bring to mind days when, with rod or gun or 
butterfly net in hand, he learned from nature 
those first great lessons of truth and beauty which 
have never ceased to exert their refining and up- 
lifting influence on the man. 

Again, your traveling epicure takes to the road 
as a duckling to water. The old parish hen may 
fluff her feathers and cluck the eyes out of her 
head, but just beyond is the pond with the cool 
waters lapping its shore, and a bottom of inex- 
pressibly delicious and unexplored mud; and the 
little one with the peculiar feet is a duck, "Mam," 
nor does he have to be informed of the fact, for 
the tiny duck-heart within him told him this long 
ago, and presently the waters will tickle his queer 
little toes, when, presto ! and our duckling is a 
world traveler and free, let the commotion and 
disturbance on the home bank be what it may. 

And surely it is natural and fortunate that 
the larger moiety of mankind should desire to see 
and judge for themselves of that greater world, 
with its denizens, which looms up and surrounds 
them on all sides. Traveling may be "a fool's 
paradise," but it is also the wise man's most de- 
lightful school. The parochial pew is narrow at 

37 



ON THE ROAD 



best, and its progeny is the little mind, and those 
two most insufferable species of all mankind — the 
egotist and the bigot — the man who cannot see 
beyond his own nose and the man who will not. 
We must be done at times with our "luxuriating 
in books;" we must flee our "dryasdusts," our 
immediate environment and, above all else, our- 
selves, for otherwise our natures will smack too 
much of provincialism, insularity, and, in all prob- 
ability, insolence as well. It is only by the fre- 
quent contact with the world at large that a man 
finally acquires that cumulative force and poten- 
tiality known as character, and that serenity and 
equanimity which permits him to adjust himself 
to all conditions and surroundings without disturb- 
ing his harmonious poise of body and soul. 

A well known writer, in speaking of youth, 
has wisely said, "Let him look well at the stars 
before he bends to his task; he will need to re- 
member them when the days of toil come, as they 
must to every man. Let him see the world with 
his own eyes before he gives to fortune those host- 
ages which hold him henceforth bound in one 
place." 

Yet, apart from all social or ethnic desires or 
speculations which may arise in the heart or mind 

38 



O N THE ROAD 



of man, there is enough of that milder curiosity in 
his composition to make him wish to know who 
his neighbors are, and what they are about, and 
to lead him to gentle deductions on the subject 
It is for this reason that a journey by rail offers so 
lively and absorbing an entertainment to your trav- 
eler; the train being a constantly moving theatre, 
the ever shifting scenes and changing background 
of which are formed by the country through which 
the journey is made. It is an auditorium and a 
stage all in one, in and on which the traveler may 
be at once the interested spectator and uncons- 
cious actor. The curtain is never down, and the 
prompter's bell is the individual inclination. It is 
the genuineness of the scene and the knowledge 
that you are dealing with actualities that hold 
your interest and attention. 

If you are a wise traveler you will have no 
companion who would disturb these reposeful sen- 
sations by irrelevant or untimely remarks. The 
presence of a friend may, if he be in accord with 
the occasion and discreet withal, enhance the 
pleasure of the journey, but a mere chance ac- 
quaintance will, depend upon it, prove to be a fly in 
the honey. All idle chatter and talk is but acid 
and ferment to the sweetness and repose of your 

39 



ON THE ROAD 



thoughts at such times. "Hope and memory" 
should be your two good companions on the road, 
so that your thoughts, untrammelled by forced or 
unwilling effort at conversation may "alight as the 
humor moves them at unfrequented stations," or 
glide gently into the repose and quiet of the season's 
spirit as one swiftly shifting scene dissolves into 
another. 

As the train speeds us along, we see in the 
distance the rapidly receding and broken outlines 
of the city's heterogeneous concourse of roofs, spires 
and towers, as they stand out in bold relief against 
the overhanging sky; while the wreaths and spirals 
of smoke, as they curl lazily up from the tall 
chimney-tops, grow every moment more faint and 
indistinct until at last they fade away altogether in 
the general haze and confusion of the distance. As 
we are borne thus quickly along we catch beauti- 
ful glimpses of the swiftly passing panorama; 
"sights seen as a travelling swallow might see them 
from the wing," and these fleeting visions of ever 
changing scenery have a vague and dreamful effect 
on the eye and mind which is peculiarly soothing 
and restful. 

We stop for a moment at the borders of a little 
lake. Its sand is white and hard and, save where 

40 



ON THE ROAD 



the brown lake- weeds sway gracefully to and fro 
beneath its surface, the eye can follow its clear, 
smooth gravel bed for a long distance from the 
shore. It is as if the ancient gods of the place had 
rounded and polished a deep bowl in which to dis- 
till the cool limpid nectar from the surrounding 
woods and hills. But now those lesser gods— the 
children of men — ply and skim over its surface and 
quench their thirst with long, deep draughts of the 
rare vintage and they feel something of the spirit 
of the wild woods, and of the rustling leaf, and of 
the unstained sky, as the life giving water cools 
their hot temples and their overheated blood. 

Presently two young fishermen join the ever 
changing troop of passengers. They bring a fresh- 
ness and a life to the scene, a moral and material vi- 
tality such as is only experienced when we come in 
contact with that harmonious perfection of physical 
being known as health. The wind, and the sun, and 
the rain have tanned their frank and honest faces and 
imparted a rich brown tint to their bare arms— one 
of nature's hues which she yields only to those who 
have courted her in all her varying seasons and 
changing moods. Their flesh is as firm, and as 
hard, and as responsive to every stimulus as that 
of the gamey denizen of the deep cool waters, the 

41 



ON THE ROAD 



pursuit and capture of which requires all the skill 
and patience of their alert and eager natures. Each 
well rounded action shows the strong beautiful 
curves of the swelling muscles of neck and arm, 
and when they smile, their teeth gleam white and 
even, while their merriment is as infectious and as 
bracing as a "Nor'Wester." No herdsman of 
Theocritus ever walked beneath the clear blue of a 
Grecian sky with firmer or more rhythmic step, or 
nobler or happier mien than these two sons of New 
England. Presently each thrusts a hand into his 
pocket and brings out a luscious apple. As they 
bite into the firm white flesh of the fruit, the crunch 
is veritable music. We begin to realize how these 
two young fishermen came to acquire so fine a 
health. Theirs is the freedom of sky, and woods, 
and fields. They have experienced that "glorious 
open air confusion" which thrills the senses, and 
starts and quickens into new and fresh vigor the 
sluggish vitality of our nature ; they have run riot 
in the "open air drunkenness," for they are the 
Mowgiis and the wild Aarons of the New England 
hills. Any one relishing an apple as they do, not 
only enjoys a good digestion but stands in a fair way 
to retain it. The tart and aromatic salts of the 
fruit invigorates their young blood, while the lus- 

42 



ON THE ROAD 



cious juice quenches their thirst and gives to their 
appetite a fine zest and stimulus. I wonder if they 
ever read honest John Burrough's essay on the 
apple. Personally, I can never read that disserta- 
tion without a dish of the fruit— Spitzenburgs and 
Kings — especial favorites — by my side. I am forced 
to take a bite between each line or two, so stim- 
ulating is each word; so seductive to the taste 
for apples! "When," says good Master Bur- 
roughs, "your neighbor has apples and you have 
none, and you make no nocturnal visits to his or- 
chard; when your lunch basket is without them, 
and you can pass a winter's night by the fireside 
with no thought of the fruit at your elbow— then, 
be assured, you are no longer a boy either in heart 
or years." 

And now an old fisherman appears on the 
scene, and, with a sort of fisherman's instinct, 
makes for the seat where our two younger fisher- 
men are sitting. The form of the old man is as 
strong and sinewy as that of a weather-beaten 
oak; his wrinkled and seamed old face being grey 
with the storms and gales of many years — an al- 
most crag-like face, beneath whose shaggy brows 
the eyes burn with a deep and lambent fire. He 
sits down beside the younger men and talks; his 

43 



ON THE ROAD 



voice has in it the strong and harsh quality of the 
storm and gale, while that of the young fishermen 
is clear and penetrating — the music of the brook 
and the waterfall. The fresh smell of fish and of 
the lake still clings to them. The old fisherman 
pulls a pipe out of his pocket and lights it. He be- 
gins to talk of days long ago, when the fish were 
bigger, more gamy, and more plentiful than now, 
and, if we mistake not, his story dilates in direct 
proportion as he observes the dilation of his listen- 
er's pupils. For our fisherman is an old fisherman, 
and is only practising his recognized prerogatives, 
having learned, long since, that nature contains 
species other than the piscatorial that will nibble 
and swallow a tempting bait, and give you a merry 
time for the angling. 

We are rushing along at a prodigous rate 
and yet with a scarcely perceptible jar. Smiling 
fields, gray fences, mellowing orchards, inviting 
hedgerows, 

"Hardly hedgerows, little lines 

Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms, 
Green to the very door ; the wreaths of smoke 
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees !" 

All are passed— the vision of an instant— and yet 
not so quick but that the keen and alert eye con- 

44 



ON THE ROAD 



veys its beautiful and masterful picture to the mind 
of the man within. 

As we round a curve there comes into view 
a long row of stately elms forming a vista that 
leads up to an old manse. We get a glimpse of 
the old-fashioned garden with its quaint white- 
gravelled walks, and their carefully trimmed and 
clipped box-edges. Memory lends us her wonder- 
ful spectacles for a moment. A boy is walking 
through the garden kicking up the pebbles as he 
goes along. This is damaging to the walk, but 
gives the boy a peculiar satisfaction, exactly what 
he cannot say; an irresistible activity impels him 
to do it, as it does many things for which he can 
give no reason. 

The hollyhocks, the marigolds and the petun- 
ias are in fiill bloom. The warm summer air 
laden with an old-fashioned spicy odor, caresses 
the face of the boy and is exceedingly grateful 
as it blows through his unkempt hair. The 
grapery is over the high hedge; its mullioned 
glass glistens under the hot sun. The boy loves 
to press his nose against the lower panes and take 
a long look at the purple and emerald clusters as 
they hang half concealed amongst the dark-green 
and jealous leaves; delicious bunches that tempt 

45 



ON THE ROAD 



him to many a secret depredation when the stern 
old gardener is not in sight. 

At the end of a pleached walk are the fruit 
trees. The boy, oddly enough, ignores the fruit, 
but makes at once for the gum which oozes in 
amber tears from wounds in the tree. He has 
made a collection of these gums and chews them 
on all occasions to the great discomfiture of his 
nurse, who believes them to be rank poison, and 
to the genuine distress of his mother, who looks 
upon it as a deplorable habit. The robins have 
built a nest high up in an old apple tree ; the rest- 
less eye of the boy has discovered it, and the spirit 
of adventure and an irrepressible curiosity seize 
him. He climbs, regardless of rent or risk, until 
lying prone on the swaying limb, he can stretch out 
his hand and feel the tiny eggs as yet warm by the 
breast of the mother bird. This discovery stirs all 
the boy's feelings to ecstacy. His adventure has 
been successful, for he has made an important 
find. He places an egg in his mouth, and, care- 
fully shutting his teeth over it, he makes a rapid 
descent. Nor must you blame the boy for the rob- 
bery. In his eyes it is not regarded as a robbery at 
all, in fact, great would be his astonishment were 
you to apply such an epithet to what he regards as 

46 



ON THE ROAD 



a serious pursuit. He has fulfilled an irresistible 
impulse of his nature, which is to collect everything 
which appeals to him as being rare or unusual. 
To satisfy his curiosity and his activity these are 
the two things for which the boy lives, and the grat- 
ification of these desires makes life worth living. 

The boy's discoveries did not always end hap- 
pily. Once— and he remembers the day as if yes- 
terday — he went on a butterfly chase. His hunt 
lead him down a gently sloping hill, at the foot of 
which was a wild uncultivated field, with here 
and there stretches of copse and underwood, the 
latter the unexplored jungles and haunted forests 
of the boy's imagination. A shallow brook wound 
its way lazily through the field, and to the eye of 
the young hunter it appeared a mighty, unnavi- 
gated river of which he was the De Soto. The 
boy was dressed in stiffly starched duck breeches 
that gaped wide at the knee and which annoyed 
and chafed him when he walked. The banks of 
the brook were of a rich alluvial deposit over which 
grew lush and velvety grass. The bank was most 
inviting to a tired, over-heated boy. He accepted 
the mute invitation of nature and sat down— but 
not for long. There were, unfortunately, aborigin- 
ies who had preoccupied the bank, these being an 

47 



ON THE ROAD 



irascible species of hornet. They made their home 
by burrowing in the rich clay, and the many en- 
trances and exits to and from their domiciles were 
marked by a series of little holes that were alto- 
gether invisible to any save the sharpest eyes. The 
unsuspecting boy unwittingly sat over a small 
congregation of these openings. The result was 
immediate and disastrous. The boy of Winander 
never awakened the echoes with more startling 
effect, but though the latter "redoubled and re- 
doubled," it was not with that "concourse wild of 
mirth and jocund din," but an "unpremeditated 
strain" of terrified shrieks and howls, indicative of 
the mad work of vengeance, which the relentless 
hornets were perpetrating on certain of the most 
useful and sensitive parts of the boys anatomy. 
The way those lithe-bodied little demons got under 
those stiffly starched breeches was a cruel shame! 
The boy was undressed and put to bed, and fresh 
mud was placed on the bad places, thereby adding, 
as he thought, insult to injury : necessity multiply- 
ing the affront still further, in that, during a period 
which tried his very soul, he was compelled to his 
unspeakable chagrin, to assume a position face 
downwards and permit himself to be fed from a 
spoon by one of his maiden aunts. 



48 



ON THE ROAD 



We gradually slow down and come to a stop 
in a wild, open part of the country. With our fel- 
low travelers we alight to stretch our legs a bit. 
The reassuring and cheerful sigh of the Westing- 
house brake ; the shrill chirp of a cricket ; and the 
sudden whir of a flying grasshopper, seem but to 
enhance the stillness of the late afternoon. We 
are near a marshy pool. The dragon-fly, that 
winged Ariel of the swamp and relentless foe of 
the pest horde of mosquitoes and gnats, is darting 
swift as a ray of jewelled light among the water- 
weeds and tall spires of the cat- tails ; now poising 
gracefully on the lovely purple iris and again dip- 
ping down into the upturned face of the water-lily. 
On the other side of the road is a stream in which 
the willows cast their fast lengthening shadows. A 
mild and kindly cow is standing knee deep in the 
cool and swirling waters, finishing her evening 
meal in quiet, and gently switching her tail to and 
fro to keep off a bothersome fly or so. 

We catch the faint odor of moist earth, and a 
perceptible yet grateful chill comes to us blown 
from the distant rolling hills. The parched and 
thirsty soil is taking a deep and delicious drink of 
the cool and refreshing draught distilled nightly by 
Nature under the deep concave bowl of the sky. 

49 



ON THE ROAD 



The vesper sun is trailing its glories over hill and 
vale, and a great peace goes up out of the vast 
silence and fills all space and the heart of man 
with deep content 



50 



To E. J. P. 



u 



o 



N 



ILLUSIONS 




NCE there was a little boy who stood 
on the sand of a long, white beach and 
looked out over the CaHban Sea. Day 
after day his tiny, bare feet pattered 
along the pebbled shore until his 
nether limbs became brown as the seaweed of the 
drift. Day after day throughout the long summer 
months he stood there watching, waiting and hoping 
for something. Many a ship did his vision follow, as, 
making her way to port, she disappeared behind the 
bold headland that jutted out into the sea, only 
presently to wing her way out again. Everyone 
wondered what the little boy sought as he stood 
on the long, white beach, looking seaward. At last 
the mystery was solved. 

It was the night of the full moon. The boy 
stole softly from the house and made his way 
over the coarse grasses and sharp sand -weeds 
that ran from the shore-road to the margin of the 
beach. The biting salt wind blew across his eager, 
young face and tossed his hair back from his fore- 



53 



U S I O N 



head, while the calm, mysterious night looked 
down into his wistful, wondering eyes. The boy 
stood in the vast silence and gazed out over the 
waste of waters ; and while he waited and watched, 
up from the dim horizon, out of the darkling sea 
rose the tall masts of a goodly ship. Soon its 
headlight gleamed like a star, and its port and 
starboard lights burned with the steadfast and un- 
quenchable fire of planets. Despite the chill breath 
of the night air, a warm flush thrilled the scanti- 
ly clad form of the boy, and his heart throbbed 
tumultuously with inexpressible desire. The ship 
sped ever nearer and nearer over the shimmering 
sea towards the boy; its dark prow wreathed in a 
spray of living fire, and its sails wrapped in a 
transcendant splendor. But all at once the un- 
seen pilot, he that held the fate of the ship in his 
hands, bore down on the helm. Slowly, but surely, 
the staunch ship changed its course and winged 
its way towards the dark headland, around which 
it presently disappeared in a glorified mist, seeking 
haven in the unseen and unknown port beyond. 
But the boy, what of him ? They found him on 
the beach sobbing as if his little heart would break, 
and between the sobs which shook him as the 
storm shakes the leaf, they caught the words, 

54 



U S I O N 



"My ship, Oh! my ship, it always turns the 
headland and never conies to me.'* 

This, then, was the little boy's secret; this the 
reason of those long unbroken vigils, and this— 
Oh ! the pity of it — the mighty disillusion ! Chance 
had whispered the old adage, "when my ship 
comes in," and to his ears had sounded a prophecy 
and promise. The good ship for which he had 
waited and watched during the long weary sum- 
mer months, was at last coming in, wrapped in 
glory and freighted with all his young heart's 
desires. It came bounding over the fathomless 
deep. Presently he would step on board and real- 
ize all that was to make life worth living; all that 
he had watched and waited and hoped for. But 
now, the illusion was gone! The firm rock of 
seeming truth had turned to the dust of merest 
fiction, and beneath his very feet his golden dream 
had vanished silently and suddenly,— a mere will- 
o'-the-wisp ! And his illusion, — yes ye sons and 
daughters of time and chance, his illusion had 
gone, and with it for the time being went also, 
hope, belief and faith, and the whole world seemed 
a cruel pretence to that little boy. 

Life, in its waking spring, its glorious summer, 
its mellow autumn, and its mute winter, finds us 

55 



U S I O N 



walking on the interminable sands of time, watch- 
ing, waiting, and hoping for our ship to come in. 
There, amidst the grey dunes of the days and years 
we stand keeping lonely vigil, the derelicts of 
wrecked hopes and shattered illusions strewn wildly 
about us ; not a little deftly fashioned timber slowly 
turning to drift-wood, but that reminds us of some 
disillusion of our own. Yet, oblivious of these re- 
minders, we still stand gazing out over the shambl- 
ing waters of existence, ever on the lookout for the 
brave ship, which with bunting flying, and merry 
wind whistling through the rigging is speeding its 
way to us— lone watchers of the shifting dunes of 
the days and years. 

From the time when our bowl of bread and 
milk is an unexplored polar sea, within whose un- 
known depths swim marvellous leviathans waiting 
to be caught by the edacious hunter of the silver 
spoon, until the time when, with mumbled words 
we expatiate on visions of past and never experi- 
enced greatness, speaking in trite platitudes of 
"the good old days," we, that is to say the most of 
us, live in a world of illusions. 

From the days of bib and pinafore to those of 
frock and gown, they are our hearts and minds 
constant and inevitable companions; for weal or 

56 



U S I O N 



woe, joy or sorrow, in protean guises and disguises, 
in manifold forms and substances, they come and 
go at all times, at all seasons, at all ages and to all 
men. We smile condescendingly on the children 
when playing great dame and gentleman in the 
nursery, yet, we ourselves, in secret, strut about 
with bold fronts and mincing mien before our 
cheval glasses, like so many human grackles, big 
with the idea of an imaginary greatness. 

Yet it is only when illusions are born of our 
pride or egotism, and not of our unselfish hopes 
and disinterested desires, that they bring their re- 
tribution of disaster and shame. It is vanity that 
allures man with some of the most enticing and 
dangerous illusions. Ah, Mistress Vanity, what a 
rare costumer art thou ! What a fine and tempt- 
ing wardrobe do you offer to the sons and daughters 
of time! Folly, the mad custodian of the robes 
bedecked with false jewels and yet falser smiles, 
stands ever at the glittering portals of your en- 
chanted palace, inviting, beguiling and seducing 
with alluring gestures and subtle words the hearts 
of the passing throng. Once within, what an al- 
luring sight meets the gaze of the truckling, purse- 
proud, silly aspirant: king or beggar, sage or fool, 
man or woman, all may feast their eager eyes and 

57 



U S I O N 



have their fill for the price. Here on every side can 
be seen the cast off baubles and corroded tinsel of 
the past: from Nero's fiddle to the "Great Mon- 
arch's" periwig; from Cardinal Woolsey's hat to 
the imperial purple of Napoleon— all are displayed 
in tawdry splendor, together with big- wigs, coro- 
nets and dazzling tiaras; in fact, all such empty 
mockeries and sham glories as arise from man's 
most selfish and despicable illusions, and which 
have ever seduced and betrayed and still continue 
to bewilder and confound his vain and shallow 
heart and mind. To every pretentious aspirant, 
to every devotee at the altar of snobbery, to every 
proselyte of the mean and the base, to all such 
who pretend to be what they are not, or yearn 
to be what they cannot. Vanity stands the shame- 
less panderer to the basest and most despicable 
illusions of mankind. In all seriousness let us 
think before we teach monkey-tricks to our faces 
to our bodies, or to our souls. Surely the situation 
is bad enough as it is ; the tail of a past generation 
still clings to us, and even at this late date, it would 
seem as if, for some of us, it were easier to chatter 
in the tree tops than to walk like men, upright and 
on two feet. 

Carlyle meditating on the disillusion of a cer- 

58 



U S I O N 



tain great king, and writing in his best style, was 
forced to exclaim: "How many times we weave 
for ourselves glittering threads of the finest diplom- 
acy, which seem to go beyond the dog-star, and to 
be radiate and irradiated like paths of the gods, and 
they are, seem what they might, poor threads of idle 
gossamer, sunk already to dusty cobweb, unpleas- 
ant to poor human nature; poor human nature con- 
cerned only to get them well swept into the fire, 
the quantities of which sad litter in this universe 
are very great." 

Not for a moment doubting the truth of these 
words which with terse and ironic pen, the great 
historian and staunch hater of all sham and con- 
ceit, thus engraved on the tablets of time; yet 
surely the question may, without offence to his 
memory, be asked what without these "glittering 
threads" illuminating the dull texture of existence 
would we be, or what doing? For, if the truth 
must be told, so far as concerns a goodly part of 
human nature at least, these illusions are about the 
only real things they have. They are the straws 
in the mad torrent of life at which bedrenched 
and struggling humanity clutches; the mirage, 
which gives them heart-courage to drag their tired 
benumbed limbs across the weary desert of life. 

59 



U S I O N 



Faith is a sublime thing and the ideal a com- 
mendable aspiration. There are those who are 
wise enough to treasure them, and yes, thank 
God! brave enough to live up to them too. But 
between your saint and hero comes your gentle 
illusionist within whose composition is the germ- 
inal essence of both, and who, as a rule, has more 
of the spirit of human brotherhood than either; 
for, depend upon it, he who has none of the 
dreamer in his composition is the sorriest sort of 
companion. Your matter of fact individual is full 
of angles and sharp lines; an uncomfortable as- 
sociate and an impossible friend. It is your dreamer 
who feels the truth which heaven has to give ; it 
is your star-gazer who reads the riddle of the uni- 
verse. These are nearer the infinite by incalcu- 
lable measures than your mere "Dryasdust," from 
whose vision the light of heaven is blotted out by 
the clouds and fogs of facts and figures. These 
illusions of ours illumine the dull human clay and 
lend a fine nimbus to the actual. No empire, no city, 
no supreme expression of art but began in a dream 
or vision — an impalpability of the imagination. 
First our Utopia and then our real city of brick 
and mortar. Dreams and visions are the parents 
of much work and wisdom in this matter of fact 

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world of ours, the wise sayings and saws of real- 
ists and pedagog:ues to the contrary. The danger 
for us poor dreamers is that in turning our eyes 
from the Elysian visions to behold again our fellow 
men, hope and enthusiasm are apt to die out of 
our hearts as the poverty and wretchedness of 
the real confronts us in its huge shapes and 
terrors. Those of us who would live for our 
fellow men; who would lift them up from the 
sloughs and quagmires; who would lend them a 
hand across the burning sands of the desert and 
send them a cheery call through the storm and 
stress of the night, must, with a hero's fortitude 
and a saint's conviction, fight with our vision ever 
before us, and hold it close to our hearts. It must 
be remembered, however, that the possession of a 
great ideal does not mean work accomplished but 
work revealed. It is here where misfortune is apt 
to overtake us, for the illusions of most dreamers 
occupy that same unstable and uncertain existence 
which Tweedledum informed Alice that she held 
in reference to her immediate environment, which 
was to the effect that "if that there King was to 
wake, you'd go out— bang !— just like a candle!" 
but sometimes, — and this is the retribution follow- 
ing illusions born of our vanity and egoism, — the 

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vision fades and dies out like the Cheshire cat 
into a simious grin. 

Children are the aptest sort of illusionists; 
they delight in imagining and pretending; their 
playroom is a wonderland, where marvellous 
scenes are constantly enacted, and where illusion 
holds unrivalled sway. For them the space be- 
tween a lounge and the floor is a cave in the 
wilderness where bears, robbers and Indians lie 
waiting to rush out and pounce upon their un- 
wary prey and victims. The pattern on the carpet 
maps out vast tracts of country whose valleys 
and mountains are peopled by hobgoblins, giants, 
fairies, heroes and royal personages. More than 
half their young lives, if we matter of fact "grown- 
ups" could only realize it, are lived under the spell 
of illusion. Their little hearts love it. To walk 
through the golden mists of romance and fairy- 
land is the child's prerogative — it is in this pleasant 
way that they at last reach the stern actualities. 
They even go so far as to cast the enchanter's spell 
over their eatables and meal-times. Thus it adds 
an indiscribable zest and relish to a bowl of bread 
and milk if you approach it under the illusion 
that it is a vast polar sea, in which are swimming 
mighty whales which must be harpooned and 

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landed before they can be stowed away "amid- 
ships." Again it enhances tremendously the fla- 
vor of any particular meal, and at the same time 
hugely increases the appetite of the consumer if, 
for the time being, he impersonates a renowned 
hunter or immortal hero; and there are times 
when "being" a lion or tiger with all the accom- 
panying guttural sounds and noises will permit 
one to devour an amount of rare steak which, un- 
less there had been a sudden conversion from the 
human into the feline nature, would otherwise 
have been impossible. Why, there is an entire 
romance in a piece of bread and butter if eaten as 
a Robinson Crusoe, or Sinbad the Sailor; and as 
to a piece of raisin cake, it can translate one to the 
islands of bliss and rosy Erytheia itself! 

But for your child, the one place where illu- 
sion is carried out to perfection is the Toy-Shop! 
Here the golden visions of some of their happiest 
moments are realized ; here some of their brightest 
dreams come true; here the earnest of some of 
their fondest illusions "make good." We know 
of one such shop which has been honored by the 
beliefs and delights of at least four generations of 
children. The old merchant who was at one time 
possessor and guardian of its sumless treasures 

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was, by all true believers, held to be nothing short 
of Santa Claus himself. Indeed his appearance 
bore a close resemblance to that kindly saint: his 
eyes had a merry frosty twinkle in them, clear and 
bright as the stars of a polar night, and his round, 
red little cheeks and his soft, snowy beard happily 
typified all the childish heart and imagination had 
dreamed of the blessed personality in question. 
Those of the faith held firm to the conviction that 
at night he drove his reindeer over the tall grimy 
chimney tops, and that some where or other they 
were waiting near at hand to do their master's 
bidding. The very atmosphere of the place was 
redolent with Christmas— an indescribable frag- 
rance of pine, hemlock, holly and sugar plums! 
The cheeriness was infectious; everybody about 
you seemed to be in the best of humor and spirits. 
Jollity was the monarch whose jovial sovereignty 
for the time being ruled men's hearts. It may be 
at once confessed that not a few of us whose 
springs and sources of illusion, under the desiccat- 
ing processes of time, are supposed to have long 
since evaporated from our human clay, neverthe- 
less still find a measurable sensation of pleasure 
and delight in revisiting this shrine of our early 
days, and as a consequence of this, each year 

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undergo a species of mild rejuvenescence, which 
permits us to better enter into the season's spirit. 
Almost breathless with the excitement of expecta- 
tion and desire we walked through this fairyland, 
where it seemed that all that the story books told 
had come true. It was here that many a little girl 
felt for the first time the maternal longings thrill 
her tiny heart, as with eager eyes she beheld the 
golden haired dolls ranged on the shelves and 
counters on all sides. It was whilst walking about 
in these enchanted by-ways that many a little boy 
first felt the sense of awakening chivalry and pa- 
triotism course through his diminutive being as he 
gazed on the long rows of bravely arrayed, leaden 
soldiers ready to do mimic battle. But possibly 
the one creation of the toy-maker's art which held 
supreme place in the childish affections, was that 
ancient vessel of hope and destiny, first immortal- 
ized by the author of Genesis and whose memory 
has ever since been kept perpetually green by the 
hallowed illusions of the countless succeeding gen- 
erations of children — Noah's Ark! Who may for- 
get their sensations as for the first time they beheld 
this sacred vessel, which came so richly freighted 
with the realization of many a golden dream; or 
the eagerness with which they thrust their infant 

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U S I O N 



hands into its mysterious interior in order to draw- 
forth into the light of day some of nature's most 
startling creations, whether considered in the light 
of gradual evolution or of spontaneous generation. 
For although there was nothing in the anatomy 
of the ancient navigator himself or of his three 
sons, which in any way might distinguish them 
from each other, or from their several wives— an 
economy in the design of their garments yet fur- 
ther enhancing this difficulty— yet in their case 
honors were even, which was something. But 
when it came to the animal kingdom,— here indeed 
were forms and shapes which would have put a 
Proteus to the blush, a goodly number of which 
remain even to this day unrecorded in the annals 
of pre-historic zoology. If one might judge from 
the similarity of stature and feature of the Noah 
family, it would seem as if nature had used the 
human species as a mere neutral background or 
foil to the reckless prodigality with which she 
molded the fauna of this period. As an instance, 
that happy biped the goose, was in these times a 
rara avis indeed, eclipsing both in form and dimen- 
sions the dodo of yesterday and the ostrich of to- 
day. Again, if it be true that it had been so ar- 
ranged that the leopard could not change his spots 

66 



U S I O N 



— which in this instance were unusually large and 
resembled ink-blobs on a piece of yellow blotting 
paper— still it was equally true that many of the 
domestic animals of these remote ages had literal- 
ly to "stand by their colors" many of which were 
of a hue and brilliancy unknown to either sunset 
or rainbow. Not the least of the ark's attractions, 
however, was its smell of fresh paint in which the 
childish nose revelled, and which tempted the taste 
of not a few small mouths. Indeed, we have known 
of several instances where more than one member 
of the Patriarch's family was sucked to a state of 
profound anemia ; nor would there be the slightest 
hesitation at denial of the crime, although the life 
blood of the victim still dyed the lips and pinafore 
of the culprit! 

Your miserable disillusionists who would be- 
reave Christmas of Santa Claus and expel fairies 
from the realms of childhood, on the ground that 
their consciences will not permit them to perpe- 
trate a falsehood on the young mind, are a pack 
of meddlesome busybodies who shatter the finest 
and tenderest germs of budding imagination, and 
rob childhood of some of its sweetest moments. 
On the same ground they should exclude all that 
is allegorical from the Bible, and under the same 

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U S I O N 



puritanical judgment, Dante, Homer and Shakes- 
peare should be consigned to perdition and burned 
together with the rest of the so-called heretics. 

And who shall be so bold as to say that these 
illusions of ours are not for our ultimate good? 
Certainly without them the zest for living would 
speedily end; the dull monotony of life would at 
first appall and finally overwhelm us; we should 
no longer hunger or thirst for anything, but pres- 
ently become dull clay images, with listless, un- 
intelligent and unheedful eyes; while history would 
lose immeasurably in interest and be deprived of 
much, if not all, of its color and romance. For, 
within that mighty forest of human events called 
"History" we can hear the arch-enchanter, "Illu- 
sion" — ^perpetually enticing and alluring individuals 
and nations of the human race. Beneath the roof 
of man's humblest hut; within the courts of his 
imperial palaces; within the splendid halls of his 
senates and parliaments, nay, within the domes 
and spired temples of his very religion itself^illu- 
sion sways his heart and pursues the path of his 
destiny. At times, during the lapse of centuries, 
there may rise before man's amazed and wonder- 
ing eyes the solemn and awful majesty of some 
Golgotha, the light of whose blazing cross, planted 

68 



U S I O N 



by the hand of eternal truth, dispels the mists and 
gloom which prevent him from seeing the al- 
mighty facts which surround and control him on 
all sides. Or, again, his dull ear catches the por- 
tentous and awful sound of some bloody revolu- 
tion, when the very soul of his race in throes and 
travail reincarnates those everlasting laws and 
systems which, through long insufferable years, 
have been ignored and broken, but whose eternity 
at last asserting itself, grinds to impalpable dust 
the sham glories and false institutions of those 
whose willful ignorance and inane insolence now 
pay the price in anguish. But these sudden reve- 
lations and assertions of truth are the flashes of 
lightning in a midnight storm. For a few tried and 
undaunted hearts they seem to illumine the dark- 
ness and uncertainty of the way ; but humanity at 
large stands bewildered and terrified as they hear 
the deafening thunders of the trumpets of God 
crashing out their ominous sounds of warning 
and avenge. All of which merely goes to prove 
that, for the denizens of this most mutable world 
the journey towards truth and salvation is fraught 
with hardships and dangers, and is not without 
its terrors as well; and that for such perplexed 
pilgrims as are groping along the fateful path of 

69 



U S I O N 



destiny, following the gentle voice and kindly light 
of illusion would seem to be the happiest and 
surest means by which to reach their desired goal. 
Illusion and hope! — these in plenty are ours 
from the cradle to the grave. We drink them in 
at the breast, you may see their subtle powers 
exerted over us at all times and at all ages. "We 
are such stuff as dreams are made on;" the nobler 
the stuff, the finer the dreams; the more beautiful 
the illusion, the more sublime the hope. "Your 
old men shall dream dreams, and your young men 
shall see visions." Let us be glad of it ; yes, let 
us be profoundly grateful that they keep on so 
doing ; for who knows what nonsense the old men 
would be committing without a dream or so to 
beguile the time, or what mischief the younger 
ones would be getting into without their visions to 
keep them occupied. For many of us at least, an 
aspiration seems to be but another term for a 
species of noble and refined illusion. Does not the 
poet tell us 

" Etwas wiinschen und verlangen, 
Etwas hoffen muss das Herz, 
Etwas zu verlieren bangen 
Und um etwas fiihlen Schmerz." 

And the beloved author of Virginibus Puer- 

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U S I O N 



isque has said that, "'We live in an ascending scale 
when we live happily, one thing leading to another 
in an endless series. There is always a new hori- 
zon for onward looking men, and although we 
dwell on a small planet, immersed in petty busi- 
ness and not enduring beyond a brief period of 
years, we are so constituted that our hopes are in- 
accessible, like stars, and the term of hoping is 
prolonged until the term of life. To be truly happy 
is a question of how we begin, and not of how we 
end, of what we want, and not of what we have. 
An aspiration is a joy forever, a possession as solid 
as a landed estate, a fortune which we can never 
exhaust and which gives us year by year a revenue 
of pleasurable activity. To have many of these is 
to be spiritually rich." 

Our delight and our happiness are forever 
dependent not on ourselves, but on something be- 
yond and better; be it man, woman, or heaven, 
that is to us the aspiration or the illusion, let us 
be grateful that it is ours. 



71 



JAN 7 lau/ 



Deaciditied using the Bookkeeper proces 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



FPP 






T:::°'^°^'^^Bss 




